The Right to Know
by Syblime
Summary: My Contribution to the Secret Santa 2017. The prompt was for a continuation or missing scene that captured the Downton spirit. Having heard the bad news about Matthew at Amiens, Sybil goes to tell the one member of staff who wasn't present in the house.


So this is my Secret Santa story for rachelduncansbitch.

The prompt was for something set during the show era, that seems like a scene straight out of the show - a missing scene, or the continuation of a scene, but something that captures the Downton spirit.

This is something I've held as head-canon for a good long while, and I've mentioned it in other fics (Most noticeably in Tom and Sybil (deceased), my contribution to rock the AU paranormal in 2015) but I've never written it, so when I landed the prompt for a missing scene, I decided to go for it! Hope it captures the spirit you were after.

Usual disclaimer of not owning the characters, etc.

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and hope you enjoy! :)

* * *

Robert followed O'Brien down the stairs. Seeing her in their bedroom in the middle of the night was enough to scare anyone! Still, he felt uneasy. Moseley being here likely meant that something had happened to Matthew, and at this hour, with this urgency, it couldn't be anything good. Cora had gone to wake the girls. Robert would have preferred not to and tell them in the morning, but his dear wife had pointed out that most of the staff must have been woken for the news to reach them and that gossip would be rife, so it would be best to tell the girls now. O'Brien directed him to the library where Moseley was pacing back and forth.

"Lord Grantham," he greeted.

"Moseley. What is it?"

"A telegram, my lord." He handed it over. Robert opened it quickly and read the contents.

"My God."

"What is it Papa?" He smiled slightly at his youngest daughter. She had always been the inquisitive one. Sybil was followed by her mother and sisters into the room.

"It's news of Matthew, and not good news I'm afraid. He's been wounded at Amiens."

"But why did the telegram come here?" Edith asked.

Moseley stepped forward. "I didn't know what else to do when I saw the telegram. Knew it was urgent. I hope it was right."

"Quite right," Robert reassured the man. "Mrs Crawley won't mind my opening it. The main thing is he's not dead. Not yet anyway. They've patched him up and are bringing him to the hospital at Downton."

Sybil's mind was racing. She'd seen more than the rest of the family had in terms of war injuries, but without more information she couldn't know what state their cousin was in. And that was the problem. She wanted to know so that she could prepare them, and prepare to help them and Matthew. Suddenly she looked over at her sister. How would Mary deal with it? Before she could dwell on that thought, Carson interrupted.

"Beg pardon, Milord, but we're all very anxious to hear the news."

"Yes, of course." Sybil watched her father walk over to the door and lingered behind Edith as she joined their father. Looking over Edith's shoulder, she watched the staff. Everyone was there; Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes, Bates and Anna, Mrs Patmore and Daisy, Miss O'Brien and the rest of the maids. Even a couple of the hall boys were gathered at the back.

Not everyone, her mind corrected. Branson would still be unaware.

"What about William? Is 'e alright?" Daisy questioned.

"I'll find out what I can tomorrow. I'm not sure there's much more we can do tonight."

"William's father would have had a telegram, if anything had happened." Bates supplied.

"I'll drive over in the morning." Edith offered.

Sybil wondered as she left the library whether she should wait and console Mary. Whether there was anything she could say to her sister that might help. Shaking her head, she realised that she was barely holding her own emotions intact. No. Mary would have to cope, because there was only one person she needed to talk to tonight.

"I'm going to get a hot drink from the kitchen," she told Edith, who just nodded and let her go. Sybil walked the other way and followed Mr Carson through the green lined door, but then diverted downstairs. She walked straight through the corridor, past the Servants hall and out into the yard. The August night was warm enough, but her thin dressing gown did little to protect her from the cool night air. She shivered slightly and took her usual path to the garage, following the gravel beyond and to his cottage. She knocked on the door.

~X~

Tom was woken by a faint knocking sound. A constant tapping. It was likely to be the obnoxious crow that had taken to pecking against his window. He rolled over.

"Tom?"

This time his eyes flew open and he got out of bed. Bleary eyed he wandered to the door, cringing at the cold floor and trying to think who knew his given name at Downton. Opening the door, he couldn't have been more surprised at who was standing there.

"Sybil!"

"Tom, I…" She hadn't expected to see him in pyjamas. Well, she knew he would be, she just… had never seen him not wearing his uniform, or at least a uniform. She supposed she'd never seen many of the servants in their night clothes, but it hadn't bothered her in the house. Maybe because she'd still been half asleep or because they had all been wearing an extra layer, whereas Tom's shirt left little to the imagination. She blushed furiously, made worse by the fact he was still waiting for her to say something.

"Branson, there's been news of Captain Crawley." She hated herself for how formal she sounded, and she noticed how his shoulders sagged just a fraction as she readdressed him. "He's been wounded. Quite badly it seems." She took a couple of deep breaths to prevent the tears from welling in her eyes. "Moseley brought the telegram here from Crawley House. Everyone in the house knows. It didn't seem fair to keep you in the dark."

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

"I think we'll need you tomorrow. There's likely to be a lot of coming and going." She shook her head. "I'm not making any sense! Matthew is being brought to the hospital here in the village."

"What about William?"

"We don't know. Edith plans to drive to see William's father tomorrow morning. He might not have been involved."

Tom doubted that. If Matthew had been injured, William would have been involved in the fighting, even if not in the circumstances that Mr Crawley was injured under. Else he might just be dead on the battlefield.

"I'm sorry for waking you." Sybil broke the silence that had settled. "I thought you had a right to know." He nodded. "I'll let you get back to sleep." She turned and walked away before he had the chance to say anything more, the gravel barely making a sound under her slipper clad feet. He watched her until she vanished around the corner. She looked ethereal in the moonlight. A vision. Tom sighed and shut the door. He'd been so shocked to see her there in her nightdress and gown and then the news wasn't exactly a shock, but he hadn't been expecting it either. 'Black day for Germany' the papers had read. It was damn hard luck to get wounded in the most successful offensive of the war so far. Branson wasn't sure he'd get back to sleep now, so he settled in the armchair to process his thoughts.

~X~

Sybil tried the door again with no luck and thumped it once in frustration. She'd never known the servants entrance to be locked. She didn't want to knock, and much less ring the front door bell, to alert everyone to the fact she was outside when she shouldn't be. There was only one thing to do. She would have to hide in the chauffeur's cottage until morning. She followed her steps back and this time he opened the door immediately. She grinned at him sheepishly.

"I'm locked out. Do you mind if I wait here until morning?"

"Sybil, I… I mean milady, I don't think that's a good idea. What if someone sees you?"

"Don't worry. There's no-one about and I will be careful in the morning, I promise." She knew the incident at the count in 1914 had nearly cost him his job, and it still weighed on her conscience a little. "Are you making tea?" She could hear the kettle whistling on the stove. They both knew that this was a precarious situation. If anyone found her, especially at night, in the chauffeur's cottage, it would be more than just Tom's job that would be in danger. Yet there was more than a little curiosity in Sybil to see Tom's home. Over the last five years their friendship had developed and the belief she knew he had in her gave her confidence now.

"Allow me," she said, stepping past him and across to the kitchen area. She found two cups and a small teapot and set about adding the tealeaves. Tom could only watch as the youngest daughter of the Earl of Grantham busied herself in his tiny kitchen. Him, a working-class lad from Ireland. He'd had a similar sense of awe when he'd snuck through the house and left that note in her bedroom when he planned to embarrass the general. Being surrounded by her possessions, in the room where she slept, and dressed and undressed… it was enough to make him giddy. But now this was real. She was here in her nightdress and he could imagine a life for them both so easily, if only she'd let them.

"How do you take your tea?"

"With just a little milk." He answered automatically.

"Everyone always says that and I always manage to put too much in." She handed him a cup. "I hope that's alright?"

"I'm still getting used to tea without sugar, but otherwise it's perfect."

She smiled at him. "I'm struggling too. I always took sweet tea. I reckon after the war I won't be able to drink it that way again, but for now I do miss it. You have quite the library." She wandered over to the bookcase in the corner.

"Mam sends the newspapers when she has time so I can read the news from home, and the rest I've just collected over the years."

"What do you make of Mary Wollstonecraft? I find her very inspirational."

"I think 'A Vindication of the Rights of Women' is interesting, but society has moved on from 1792, so I enjoy it more as a history rather than for the messages she puts forward."

"I suppose so. And now we are at war I don't know whether the world is progressing or going backwards. I know I've been lucky to benefit from such horrible circumstances, but you'd think by the 1900s we could all live on the planet in peace!"

Tom chuckled. "That's true." He watched as she looked through his books and noticed the way she pulled her dressing gown tighter around herself. He left her there for a minute to fetch the blanket from his bed. He was going to drape it over her shoulders, but thought for propriety's sake he should say something first. "Milady?"

She turned slightly, but not enough to be fully facing him.

"Sybil?" This time his voice was edged with concern. She sniffed, wiped her eyes and turned around.

"I'm sorry. I've seen so many injuries in this war now, but I can't bear to think of Matthew in such a state. It's cruel of me I know, to put him in any way above my other patients, but I just can't bear it." Tom draped the blanket round her shoulders in an effort to offer some comfort. "I can't even begin to imagine the hell these men have gone through. We patch them up, but it's impossible to fathom what it's like over there. I like to think I'm doing my bit, but in comparison…" She broke down in sobs.

"Hey, Shussh. I'm sure Mr Matthew will be fine." Tom wanted to hold her so badly. To comfort her properly, but instead he just kept his hands on her arms. They stayed like that for a few moments as Sybil calmed and eventually yawned. "You should get some rest before tomorrow." Tom felt his cheeks redden as he said it, knowing he was offering her his bed. "I'll go and straighten things out for you."

Sybil missed his warm hands immediately he broke the contact. She snuggled further into the blanket and then went to watch him straighten the sheets. "Tom, you needn't."

"I think it's best, milady. There's no guest room in the chauffeur's cottage I'm afraid, and I'm not going to raise that point with your father."

Sybil giggled. "What about you?"

"I'll sit up in the armchair." She was about to argue, but he continued. "I might be busy tomorrow, but grief and anguish are far more tiring, so you get some rest."

"Well then, thank you. For being such a gentleman."

Tom fetched himself a blanket out of the wardrobe. "Goodnight Sybil."

"Thank you for letting me stay." She yawned again.

He chuckled slightly. "If circumstances were different…" He muttered, more to himself, as he shut the door.

"Maybe one day they will be. Goodnight Tom."


End file.
